


Age of the Sky

by Penkindisbestspecibus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, F/F, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Magic, Multi, Original Character(s), Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Sky Pirates, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penkindisbestspecibus/pseuds/Penkindisbestspecibus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look, I get that you’re ‘John Egbert, Friend to all Living Things, Oh look at me go I’m on an Adventure, Whee fun’, but you can’t just go around buying random trolls!"</p><p>Hundreds of years ago, Skaia was wracked by a disaster known as 'The Reckoning'. In it's wake, the surface of the world is covered in oceans and fog, and most of the populace, both troll and human, either live in the ancient and vaguely magical cities of Prospit and Derse or in the newer, makeshift settlements along towering mountains known as 'Spires'. John Egbert, Sky Captain (and most definitely not a Pirate) of the Airship 'The Windy Thing', has a very strange habit of pronouncing random people crewmembers and cheerfully insisting that they join him and his crew.</p><p>Even Purpleblooded Trolls, 'waiting' to be sold as a slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How much for that Clown in the Window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls out from a pile of essays*
> 
> Yes, hello. New AU, don't worry, still working on Chernobylbound. But! I wanted to get this up.
> 
> I'm not fond of the title (for some reason I feel like it should be fancier) but it's good. Airships and Sky Pirates and whatnot because SWASHBUCKLING IN THE SKIES.
> 
> Also Magic, vaguely.

_“The Skies cried out. The Clouds burned. The Earth trembled. The Seas rose. It sang, and in it’s song it delighted. In the tongue of mortals, it is Aralagath, the Bearer of the Spheres, the Herald of The Reckoning.” - The Book of Nothing._

****

Although both Humanity and Trollkind were once in the throes of vicious hostilities, and at times in all out war, when the Reckoning came, everything changed. The Great Alternian Empire sank beneath the waves (a mere inconvenience to the Empress and the Nautical Aristocracy were it not for the fact that everything was also crumbling down), and the Federation went with it. Skaia itself split apart and cracked, and the Sky rained fire. But what truly nailed the coffin for civilisations was the Flood.

The seas rose up, swallowing everything. Billions drowned, unable to get to ground high enough. Those who survived were fortunate enough to live close enough to mountain peaks high enough that most considered it sheer insanity to live there, or fled to the two ancient cities - Derse and Prospit.

****

They were relics of the Carapacean Empire, who were once the rulers and sole denizens of Skaia, long before both Humanity or Trollkind were even capable of conscious thought. They mysteriously disappeared, and no amount of Archaeological research discovered why - the most prominent ruins they left behind being the aforementioned two great cities.

Prospit, the City of the Sky, was a marvel of Carapacean Technology. It was originally set within stone, on a relatively large plateau, and during the events of the Reckoning, man and troll alike fled to it in the hopes that it would save them from the Flood. It did. When the plateau split apart, the City came to life, rising up above the rising ocean and taking to the skies.

Derse was once part of the mainland, albeit somewhat raised. Those who fled to Derse originally did so quite early in the Reckoning, but their choice of refuge was vindicated when the ground cracked apart and the seas rose sufficiently - Derse, now free of it’s earthy anchors, revealed itself to be perfectly designed for floating across the now-gargantuan seas.

****

But those who lived in Prospit and Derse were not the only ones to survive. A large plateau, high in the sky became a refuge for hundreds, and those who managed to flee to mountainsides high enough to escape the Flood (and most opted for the highest mountains they could find) began to settle back into a semblance of Civilisation.

Scattered and scared, the hostilities that once burned furiously were forgotten, and old ways of life and knowledge rendered mere tales and stories. Trollkind narrowly avoided extinction due to the diligence of a Jadeblood now known as the Mother of All, who hatched a Matriorb in a large, relatively hollow mountain. At first, navigation was primarily naval, but the plentiful fog that clung to the ocean surface that now encompassed nearly all of Skaia made even the brightest Lighthouse’s a faint glow, a barely-there will’o’wisp.

The solution came from studying the technology that allowed Prospit to fly, and before long, Airships became the mainstream method of travel, capable of rising above the thick fog and clouds, and easily travelling between the high peaks and the cities.

****

This is the Age of the Sky, where those who seek wings are the ones who make the world turn.

****

* * *

 

Gamzee Makara was relaxing outside of his Hive, at the base of a small spire. Life for him was solitary, devoid of any real bonds or communication with any other life forms except those of the fish he occasionally hunted, and the voices that sang in his thinkpan. He didn’t like the voices very much, and he found that in the absence of a moirail or even his lusus, consuming sopor slime dulled their shrieking songs and calmed his mind. This wasn’t all to say that he was completely cut off from society - every sweep or so he’d go to the nearest seaport, to sell some fish, get some news, and maybe buy something nice for Goatdad. Not that he ever appeared.

His pleasant, idyllic little slice of life had come crumbling down rather abruptly when his little hive had been attacked.

Corsairs. Buccaneers. Pillagers and Plunderers, Slavers and Smugglers. Pirates. They were after one thing and one thing alone; Purpleblooded Trolls, a niche market in the Slave Trade. Capturing Purple’s was not easy. Resilient psychically and physically, an Purple at it’s peak could easily fight off a small army, and even an adolescent was enough to fight off the average crew of an Airship.

 

They were not the average crew of an Airship.

****

They were, above and beyond, experienced at what they did. Many would-be Slavers assumed that Purples, with their proclivity to solitary, desolate Hive locations and general lack of anyone around to help, were easy prey. Those Slavers did not have long or fulfilling careers. But those who could claim to make a living from capturing Purples were more than just a cut above the rest. They burst into his Hive, carefully carried down with psionics, to confront him. Give a Purple warning you were coming, and half of them will dive into the ocean. The other half will meet you at the door. They were a team of five - two trolls (one rustblood, and a blueblood) and three humans, splattered with purpleblood - the blood of his Lusus. The rustblood crackled with psychic energy, and attempted to hold him in place whilst the other four lassoed him with ropes and electrowhips. Bursts of electricity designed not to kill but stun flashed through the whip, held by what was apparently the leader of small group, a tall human with a scarred face. They killed his father, his caretaker and came to take him away and bind him, sell him into service or worse, and a part of him was hurt, so painfully hurt. Goatdad was dead.

 

So he called on the Rage.

****

They were not expecting him to - how could they? Chucklevoodoo’s they were prepared for, but raw Rage? It screamed in his thinkpan, it’s horrible wailing echoed by his own screech. He let it splay out between his fingers and spark between his horns. He let it sing down the whips and chains and ropes, burning fingers and hands, flashing dangerously in his eyes. Unbound and unbroken, but most of all, unforgiving, he counter-attacked. He can’t reach his clubs but fists and claws will work just fine to break bones and rend flesh. A burst of Rage has the Psionic reeling, and a straight punch cracks the troll’s ribs. The electrowhip lashes at his back, discharging with enough voltage to put down a trunkbeast, but Gamzee is angry and the Rage sings in his blood, and he wraps the long thin whip around his arm and pulls harshly, the startled and mildly surprised human finding himself careening towards a very angry Purple. A backhand sends him back towards the wall of Hive with a crunch.

He turns to face the remaining three, but something crackles in his pan and he can’t think, stumbling back slightly, static in his ears and hissing in his eyes, and the world goes unfocused. He can’t see the Blueblood glowing softly with a faint aura of Mind, scrambling the taller troll’s senses just enough that the Rustblood can regain his psionic hold as an electrowhip curls around the sensitive horns. A burst of electricity, stronger again, causes Gamzee to scream as he slips into blissful unconsciousness.

 

When he wakes again, he is already in bound in a cage, and the Leader, who Gamzee is somewhat proud to see is on crutches, is talking with a Goldblood with Spring-like horns. Still groggy, the only things he can catch are ‘high price’ and ‘pit fighter’. He spends an entire sweep in the cage, being fed once a day by the Goldblood quite literally shoving legs of meat into his face. The chains are loosened only when the Goldblood forcefully injects him with sopor, and tightened before he awakens from his forced slumber.

There are few prospective buyers. Purples are a niche market, and those who seek to buy them as slaves are either incredibly discerning or completely naive about their purchase. Those few who come to inspect him are the former, and can recognise the traces of Rage that linger around him. A Purple capable of manipulating Rage energy, be it learned or simply natural talent, was too dangerous for many. Keeping a Purple slave was a lesson in precautions as it was, no need to add magically apt to the list of things you had to protect from and watch out for. It’s mild surprise that reaches his eyes and tempers his undying fury when a stocky human, with jet black hair and the sun-kissed tan of a Prospitian, comes to view him.

He’s being dragged along by his ‘owner’, the Goldblood with spring horns, and it doesn’t look like he’s after a slave of any kind, but when their eyes meet, there’s a spark of something and now he’s interested. Gamzee, for his part, can smell the Breath on the human, so thick and strong as it was, a powerful but not unpleasant aroma that reminded him vaguely of autumn sea breezes. The human, a captain of an airship from his coat and bandana, is a wielder of the Breath and a damn powerful one. Electric blue eyes gaze calmly into his roiling purple irises from behind a pair of rectangular glasses, and they study each other in mutual interest. The human, he notes, could hardly be called weak or spindly based on the size of his arms. It’s hard to see any real definition of his body under the coat, but he looked thickset and relatively stocky, and most of it would have to be muscle to haul around the large hammer slung across his back. The hair is very much wildly messy, seemingly holding a large conference of short cowlicks going every which way. ‘Green’ seemed to be his favourite colour, based on the abundance of it in his clothing - a green shirt, green pants, and a green bandana. The coat was a soft blue. a shade closer to the sky than his eyes but otherwise caught in between them, and the blunt teeth that he always found so odd in what he had seen of humans were pronounced in the incisors - a condition he would later learn was colloquially known as ‘buckteeth’.

****

The human seems to come to some sort of conclusion, because he just suddenly declares “I’ll take him.”

****

* * *

 

The hustle and bustle of Port Tyras was as familiar to John Egbert as the back of his hand. As Captain of his airship, the imaginatively named (if he did say so himself), 'The Windy Thing', he had docked in the biggest port this side of the Veil to resupply. He wasn't doing the resupplying himself, per se, that was the job of Karkat Vantas, his Quartermaster and Cook. The nubby-horned troll insisted on performing all supply runs himself, so as not to be 'INFLUENCED BY YOUR STUPID FUCKING SHITPANNED IDEAS'; by which he was probably referencing the last time they had let him do the supplying. It wasn't his fault there was a simply irresistible special on cakes, now was it? Of course not.

But that didn't mean he couldn't go shopping, only that he couldn't go shopping for everyone. And everyone went shopping. It was Port Tyras! The only place where you could sell your grandmother to buy a cage full of fluffy rodents and then enter that cage full of rodents into a brutal gladiator contest where the winner won the grand prize of a bucket full of mind altering substances. Okay, so maybe he was exaggerating a little – you could get a lot more than a cage full of fluffy rodents for a grandmother, but that really depended on your grandmother. Not that he was advocating that people sell their grandmothers for fluffy rodents (no matter how fluffy) mind! Only that Port Tyras was a place where you could buy or sell anything you could conceive of.

****

If you couldn't at least buy knowledge of whatever you were after, you either didn't have enough money or it just didn't exist. And even then, in the latter case, people still might sell you blatant lies.

****

But he wasn't actually sure what he was after. He wasn't particularly hungry, and he didn't really have an interest in the darker side of Port Tyras. He supposed he might like to pick up some bric-a-brac for his cabin. Or a pet! What kind of pet could he get? Cats were out of the question. Jade would probably chase it around. Another dog was probably a bad idea – Becquerel was a handful as it was. Maybe one of those weird animals that used to live in the Troll lands? Nah, definitely a bad idea. He had no idea how to take care of those. He frowned, scratching his chin. Well, he'd take a look anyway. Maybe something would jump out at him? Possibly even literally!

“Esteemed Pirate Captain sir, you are coming to look for wonderful beasts yes?” He frowned, brow wrinkling as he felt a hand tug on the sleeve of his coat. It was a Troll, a goldblood from the colour of his irises. He had small curly horns, looking like a pair of pointed springs heading directly upwards, and a cheerfully smiling face. “Well yes, but I'm not a Pirate!” Why did everyone keep assuming he was a Pirate? So he had a fancy coat, and a bandana around his forehead, and maybe he was carrying a big hammer across his back, but he wasn't a Pirate! He was just a Sky Captain! The Goldblood winked at him. “Of course, Captain sir, of course.” His tone was conspiratorial, as if he was sharing in on some secret joke. He wasn't a damn Pirate!

Reluctantly, he let the Goldblood drag him away, presumably to his own store or whatever passed for it. It couldn't hurt! Well... the Goldblood seemed to believe he was a Pirate Captain, and said 'beasts'. Trolls tended to refer to all animals as 'beasts', mostly because when Alternia was still around, their wildlife was a lot more vicious. Still, it kind of worried him slightly. He didn't want a pet tiger or a pouncebeast. He wanted cute, and fluffy, and cuddly and definitely not sharp and angry.

****

What he got, he found, was a strange mix of both.

****

“Good, yes? Strong, powerful! Excellent pit fighter if temperamental. They captured it on the coastline of the Furthest Ring. No buyers yet, but definitely worth the investment! Champion Figher, I think.” 'It' was tall. Very tall. Taller than the cage he was imprisoned in, that was for sure. He was practically wrapped in chains, arms and legs strung out and taut, unable to so much as twitch. Purple eyes stared at them almost lazily, the way a lion did because it knew it couldn't reach them. Hatred and fury was there, controlled and restrained, not out of choice, but out of necessity. Twisted, candy-corn coloured horns stretched up from the messy tendrils of black hair, resembling almost a goat's horns. For some reason, John's first reaction was ' _I want to touch them_ '.

He crouched down, leaning close to the bars, studying the troll's face. It wasn't uncommon for those unfortunate enough to be captured by Slavers to be sold at Port Tyras, human and troll alike. He had never seen a Purpleblood in person before – especially not so close! Purples grew up close to the sea, often in the great floating city of Derse or on the base of spires.

“I'll take him.” He said suddenly, gazing into those violent eyes. The goldblood blinked before grinning widely. Before he could even specify a price, John just flung a hefty bag of gold coins at him. “Oh! Will sir be requiring assistance in transporting-” John shrugged him off, clapping his hands together. “I'll be fine.” He said quietly, eyes flashing with a cerulean hue, and he began to _Breathe_.

****

Magic was something John was lucky enough to have a natural talent for. Wispy tendrils of light blue energy coalesced and danced, whirling and twirling, wrapping themselves around the bars of the cage and around the cage itself. With an irreverent gesture from John, it began to float. The chained passenger seemed only mildly startled but otherwise, did nothing. The Goldblood let out a startled squeak and scrabbled away slightly. Magic was frightening and relatively rare since the Reckoning. It was generally wielded by those who had a natural talent for it, or those who had the drive and aptitude to learn it. It was also, as a general rule, used to destroy one's enemies.

The Breath lent itself to warfare easily in the culture of the Sky and the Spires, so to witness it used so casually and easily would be frightening to the people that called Port Tyras home. If John willed it, he could probably bring the entire Spire crashing to the ground unless someone stopped him. He didn't, however, will it at all and in all likelihood, would not in the near future.

The walk back to his airship was an interesting experience, full of people cowering and even some fleeing.

****

* * *

 

“John, I know you’re a complete fucking tool who couldn’t tell his own waste chute from his bulge, but what in the name of the SPHERES MADE YOU BELIEVE THAT THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?!” John’s ‘impulse buy’ is met with vivid resistance from his Quartermaster. Wearing a white duster and with one pencil behind a pointed ear and another precariously held between claw-tipped fingers. His expression is one of impressive vitriol, a sublime and uniquely Karkat-like blend of irritation, frustration and sheer exasperation as he stares almost dumbfounded at his Captain’s new ‘slave’. The assembled dock workers, a motley of trolls and humans of all kinds, pause in their task of loading the Airship with the various things that the mutant troll deemed necessary for their continued travels, Karkat’s watchful eye distracted by John’s ridiculousness.

The Captain of ‘The Windy Thing’ only rolled his eyes behind his glasses, and made a disinterested noise. “Jeez, relax Karkat.” A vein begins to bulge above the troll’s left eye.

“Relax? RELAX?! YOU JUST BOUGHT A FUCKING PURPLEBLOOD YOU TAINTSUCKING BAG OF LIMPID DICKS! HOW CAN I FUCKING RELAX WHEN MY CAPTAIN IS APPARENTLY SO ASSBACKWARDS IMBECILIC HE DECIDES THAT ‘HEY, YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE A GOOD AND WONDERFUL ADDITION TO MY HIDEOUSLY UNCREATIVELY NAMED SHIP? A GIANT MURDERING FUCK!’” John frowned at the nubby-horned quartermaster.

“He’s not a murdering fuck. At least, I don’t think so?”

****

“... There are no words, Egbert, no words in the lexicon of ANYONE that can properly summarise how utterly moronic you are. I will have to create an entire language on the spot just to properly describe how stupid you are. Thank you for nothing, you pan-deformed amoeba.” His attention was snatched back to his job when the assorted labourers began to snicker. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LITTLE WRIGGLERS LAUGHING AT? I DON’T REMEMBER YOU BEING PAID TO STAND AROUND AND LOOK PRETTY BUT THAT MIGHT BE BECAUSE NONE OF YOU COULD WIN A BEAUTY PAGEANT IF THE ONLY OTHER CONTESTANTS WERE A BUNCH OF GROUND UP CRUSTACEANS! GET BACK TO WORK!” Taking the chance whilst he could, John waved his hand lightly, the cage containing his new crew member (and that’s really what he was) wafting over the heads of everyone and settling nicely on the deck. “I don’t know why you’re so cranky Karkat.” He said offhandedly, grinning brightly at the glare he received. “After all, this is how you joined us as well!”

It was true. Karkat had been sold into slavery by his neighbours after they discovered that he was ‘filthy fucking mutant scum’, and had been taken to a large auction. John was only passing through at the time and had gotten into a fierce competition against a Seadweller (a rare sight) for ‘possession’ of the ‘rare mutant breed’, that had ended ultimately with violence when the Seadweller did not take being outbid too well.

It was a little hypocritical of him to be so against the purchase and what would undoubtedly be the freeing of another being, but John was an ignorant dumbass who didn’t know how dangerous Purple’s were (or people in general). Legends and fables ran like water of the power and reach of the Purple caste before the Reckoning, weaving a story of a behemoth troll known only as the ‘Grand Highblood’ who could crush a grown troll in his fists for fun and ground up grubs for paint. Purples were bad news. He wanted to complain further but he knew that general look about his Captain - he wouldn’t budge from this decision. The entire world could go through a second Reckoning and he wouldn’t give in. Although he’d never admit it (least of all to the idiot’s face), he secretly admired that part of his Captain.

****

Sighing with reluctant acceptance, he turned back to monitoring the loading of the airship, ticking off each item was it was brought onboard. “... Strider. What the fuck are you doing?” ‘Strider’ was a tall, lanky pale blonde, dressed in very light and flexible plate armour the colour of red dust, and pair of sunglasses perched on his nose. For some reason that Karkat couldn’t fathom, he was also sporting a shiny, completely and utterly obviously fake, moustache. “Eh? Who iz Strideir? This iz Francois, here to load ze supplies.” Karkat tapped his pencil against his clipboard.

“Uh-huh. Right. I believe you.” He glanced down at the particularly large steel barrel the male was rolling up the rampart. “... Is that another barrel of apple juice?”  
“Eh? Why are you asking Francois? Francois iz ‘ere only to do ze loading and speak in third poyson!”

“Dave, what accent is that even?” John chimed in, sitting on the rail of the deck, legs kicking about almost childishly. “Who iz ‘Dave’? Francois believes he sounds very attractive and iz eh, probably cool!” ‘Francois’ seemed indignant now, puffing his chest up in ‘anger’.  
“Oh my god, Dave, you are so lame!” To accentuate his point, he let loose a small breeze, dislodging ‘Francois’s moustache. ‘Francois’ let out a startled yelp, hands immediately reaching for it with a cry of ‘MY MUZZSTACHE!’. “Damn it Strider, you’re keeping everyone up! Just load the fucking AJ! I’ll let it slide just this once.”

“Aw thanks, Vantas, you’re a peach. I owe you a smooch later.” His ‘Francois’ act forgotten rapidly, the grinning swordsman rolled the large barrel up and began carting it over to the hold.

“Save it for later by which I mean never, Strider. Move it you grubfucking morons! If we could finish sometime today, that would be just fucking super!”

****

Finding watching a bunch of big sweaty men and women carry crates and barrels to be relatively boring, John turned to his new crew member (and hopefully friend). “So! What do you think of my ship? Preeeetty nifty huh?” He waggled his eyebrows at this, grinning at the bound troll. “Oh! I should probably get your chains undone!” He fumbled in his pockets for a few minutes, before realising, relatively belatedly, that he never got the key. The slave trader was too busy being shocked and frightened by his magical display to give him it. Oh well!

“Um... I may have forgotten to get the key, but that’s okay! If you hold still, I’m pretty sure I can get the chains broken!” He said cheerfully, with that same optimistic smile. Dave paused by the hold, crossing his arms with a smirk. Gamzee only blinked owlishly. Even powered by the Rage, he couldn’t even crack these chains - whatever they were made of, they were strong. The Captain of ‘The Windy Thing’ simply grinned brightly and held out his hands. Those same glowing blue tendrils began to waft from his body, snaking inbetween the gaps in the links of the chains, and then when the glowing human clenched his hands into fists and pulled the chains began to strain in all directions simultaneously. He hissed lightly, clenching his fists tighter and calling upon more of the Breath, until he was nearly obscured entirely by a blue haze. He pulled harder and harder but the chain’s refused to give by the tiniest scrap.

Seeing that his new ‘owner’ had reached the limits of his own power, Gamzee decided that perhaps if he wanted to be free of the chains, he had to assist. So he did. His eyes flashed the same bright violet of the Rage, and his arms and legs rippled. Letting out an earsplitting roar, he began to pull at the chains as well, feeling them strain further under their combined efforts.

Still the chains did not break. Not even under the Breath/Rage double reach around Combo x 2 did they so much as crack. “Jesus! What the hell did they make these things out of?” John exclaimed, panting lightly as he let go of the Breath. Gamzee said nothing, ‘relaxing’ as best he could in his bonds.

****

* * *

 

Gamzee isn’t sure what to make of the strange human who commands the Breath as if it was just another arm. He seemed either apathetic or just oblivious to the way the people of Port Tyras scattered before him fearfully, and had even begin whistling an offbeat but jaunty tune. The Rage inside of him whispered and pined for blood and violence, slowly attempting to convince him to sate it’s desire by tearing the Sky Captain limb for limb, and normally he probably wouldn’t have disagreed too much, but the Breath that winds between the bars and hefts it so carelessly and the view he has of the cold stone hammer across the man’s back dissuade him.

With the Rage’s assistance, he has no doubt he’d be capable of fighting the Breath wielder on even ground but that was the issue - he wasn’t sure he was capable of overpowering him. That alone would normally not stop him - what was more exhilarating than a battle you didn’t know you could win? Nothing he had ever experienced that was for sure. But Sky Captain’s had crews. He had already lost a battle against five pirates, who, individually, would not even be a match for the Purple if he tied both hands behind his back. Admittedly, he hadn’t been armed then, but he wasn’t armed now either.

So a fight, one he could win, was out of the question. The strange human was clearly formidable (if overly cheerful) and probably had friends who may not be as formidable but would prove a challenge to take on as a group. The second solution to the problem of ‘What the motherfucking messiah is going on?’ was then to just go with the flow, something Gamzee liked to believe he was fairly good at. The human seemed friendly enough but Messiah knew looks could be deceiving. _He_ seemed friendly enough, at least, as friendly as a not-quite-mature Purpleblood could seem. He could perhaps ask to be set free and returned to his Hive, but if he was honest, he had no idea where his Hive even was. He’d never had to really know it’s location and he never really had an interest in finding out. That, and he wasn’t sure it was even worth it.

The Pirates had probably ransacked the place of everything that wasn’t bolted down and possibly even took the time to unbolt everything that was and take that too. His Lusus was dead, something he preferred not to dwell on (the old Goat was never around anyway, it figures he had to be home the one time it would’ve been better for him to be away). So returning to his hive would probably be pointless.

****

The answer he was then left with was ‘Stick with the Strange Human’.

****

His contemplation of his choices, an act quite rare, was interrupted by the sounds of bickering. A short, nubby-horned troll wearing a bright white coat and a shockingly red sash was waving a clipboard in his general direction, spewing vitriol and general vehement hate like a caliginous fountain. The insults don’t sound particularly heartfelt however, at least not in an obsidian way. They aren’t exactly ashen either, so he comes to the rough conclusion that this is just standard fare for the white-wearing troll. Watching him roar with thick bilious fury tugs at something in his chestmeats, but he doesn’t react, choosing only to inhale slowly.

There’s a faint scent of copper, and the general odour of Troll mixed in with the slight fragrance of Blood. ‘Slight’ is a bit of a misnomer, but it was subtle for it’s Sphere. It isn’t strong enough to suggest that the angry troll is particularly proficient in Magic, but it was interesting to know these things about people. Spheres may not govern your personality or demeanour, but they were still an undeniable influence. Each also imparted it’s own unique ‘scent’, and he found himself with the possibly unique talent of being able to smell people’s alignments. There’s a slightly stronger but not really significant waft of rust and dust and forgotten tomes that herald the presence of someone gifted with Time, and he cranes his neck slightly to get a better look at them. A tall blonde man, wearing loose rust red (but polished and smooth) plate mail, a ridiculously fake moustache attached to his upper lip and rolling a steel keg of something he couldn’t discern. There’s a faint hint of apples, but that seems to radiate from the human as opposed to the keg, and he wonders how many apples you have to eat before you start smelling like them just normally.

The short troll and the armoured human argue over nothing whilst the strange human watches on amused. The situation is clearly reconciled after an interjection by the strange human and a waft of Breath, before the armoured human rolls the barrel up and over to where Gamzee can only assume is the cargo hold. The strange human turned to him then, and asked him what thought of the ship.

****

It was impressive looking, not particularly large but sleek and well designed. Carapacean Technology was mostly magical based, and was mostly obscure and hard to understand, but people had learned how to adapt it and recreate it - especially the parts of it that let things defy gravity. He didn’t know much about airships, but he did know a thing or two about marine ships, and ‘The Windy Thing’ reminded him vaguely of a large metal merchant ship floating in the sky - only with more cannons. The human babbled on about something or other before sheepishly admitting he didn’t have the key.

Well. That was a motherfucking miracle then wasn’t it? Tendrils of Breath snaked in between the bars and into the links of the chain and began to pull lightly. Realising what the human was attempting to do, he let him exert himself fully as a way to subtly gauge just how powerful his command of the Breath was and found it unable to break the chains as well - that was fine. Calling on the Rage, which was all too happy to answer if it meant breaking things, he attempted to assist in the chain breaking to no avail.

The Slavers knew what they were doing evidently. But before he could muse on that further (there was little else to do but muse on things when you couldn’t move an inch), the clacking of low heeled shoes on metal and the most powerful stench of Light Gamzee had ever smelled caused him to crane his neck to the side, attempting to glimpse the newcomer.

****

She was slender, almost like a willow tree, with the pale complexion of a human who grew up on Derse or within the thicker parts of the Veil, wearing a deep velvet dress that hung off her frame as if it was a flowing curtain. Her violet eyes were tinged with amusement, neatly arranged pale blonde bangs falling in perfect order across her face. All of that took second stage to the sheer overpowering smell of Light that she exuded. If she smelled any stronger of it, she’d probably start glowing like a lantern. Their eyes met briefly, and he could see the brief flash of orange gold, the magic of fortune and knowledge simmering lightly in her pupils, searing over him almost gently.

A Seer. Gamzee had only ever run into one other Seer in his life, and he was a giant bag of writhing bulges who delighted in telling you all the misfortunes that would befall you for the next week. Admittedly, that was a Seer of Doom, and one with a stick up his waste chute and a chip on his shoulder. Well, until Gamzee punched him. From what he knew, Seers of Light weren’t exactly uncommon. It tended to be the main focus of anyone aligned with Light as the Sphere lent itself naturally to the art. Which wasn’t to say that actual, honest to Messiah ‘I can see the future’ Seers were a dime a dozen, only that there was a surplus of half-rate jokers out there claiming to be able to predict your fortune for five gold pieces just because they were aligned with the Sphere of Light.

****

She smiles at him, advances slowly, dress trailing and flowing around her almost like water, and smiles again for good measure. “Rose. Rose Lalonde.”

****

At this point, the strange human finally realises he hasn’t even gotten Gamzee’s name yet and has the decency to look embarrassed about this fact, even if he ignores it for the most part. “Gamzee Makara. I’d shake a sister’s hand but I ain’t really got the mobility to all up and get my manners on, so y’ll have to forgive a motherfucker.” It’s the first time the strange human has actually heard him speak after purchasing him, and the little face he makes is amusing. “Oh! I’m John! John Egbert, Captain of ‘The Windy Thing’.” He reflexively goes to hold out his hand before realising that it’s a useless gesture. Rose ignores him, and proceeds to study the bound troll further.

Gamzee doesn’t doubt she could probably decipher his entire life story down to the time he fell down the stairs when he was a grub and scraped his thorax. She doesn’t, though, preferring only to analyse him through mundane methods. “From that little display earlier, I suppose brute force is not working in order to remove your bondage?” She says smoothly, voice like honeyed silk hiding an edge sharper than any blade. The edge is not directed at anyone, or even presented as such, but it’s there all the same, an underlying omnipresent warning, almost like the brightly coloured fish that made him sick when he was six sweeps. _I am dangerous_.

That was fine. He had no intention of getting on a Seer of Light’s bad side, not the least one that was actually competent. If a proper Seer wanted revenge, there was very little that could stop them from ruining your day with the subtlest of things. Something as simple as understanding the far reaching consequences of a pebble on a road meant they could and sometimes would set up almost impossibly long chain’s of events, just to get back at people.

****

At least, that’s what most people thought. Gamzee didn’t want to find out if that was true.

****

“Yeah! We both tried and it was reaaaally strong! Whatever they made it out of is super tough!” John nods vigorously to emphasize his point, gesturing with his hands almost childishly. “It’s carapace steel John.” She wrinkled her nose lightly in a frown. “Well made too.” That explained why they failed to break it. Carapace steel was one of the hardest alloys in the world, capable of being forged by magic alone. It warped, it bent, and it twisted, but it never broke or stretched. It was useless as a weapon or armour but it was invaluable as chains. The Seer plucked a pair of needles from inside her dress, Gamzee isn’t entirely sure where and fiddles with them in a lock almost idly. There’s a ‘click’ and the door to the cage swings open easily. She approaches him calmly, uncaringly and certainly unafraidly regarding him with those analytical eyes.

“Y’r takin’ a bit of a chance with a motherfucker, just all freeing him and shit, sis’.” His eyes are half-lidded and his tone is casual, but the meaning is clear. She smiles back at him. “I’m hardly taking a chance, Mister Makara. My Captain, bless his hand-knitted socks, has once again decided to take in a stray. As a member of his crew, I can only trust in his choices and judgement and assist him as best I can.” The needles find their way into the bindings on his left hand, and fiddle idly in the lock once more. She seemed completely uninterested in what her hands were doing, but Gamzee knows she’s exactly sure of how to move them to unlock the binds. The smell of Light is only a touch stronger than her normal levels, and picking a lock no matter how complex is child’s play to a Seer of her caliber, least of all one of Light. When his left arm is free, it hangs limply at his side. He hasn’t been able to move it for a sweep now, with the exception of the occasional twitch in his sleep, and it’ll probably be a while before he can actually function properly. Another reason a fight would’ve ended badly.

She frees his neck and then his legs next, and they (the legs) at least have had the exercise of somewhat supporting his body for most of a sweep. Not that they feel any more alive than his arms. He has the sneaking suspicion he’s going to collapse onto his face the moment she frees him entirely. It’s a feeling that’s apparently shared by the Seer, because she stands clear of his front when she unlocks his right arm. “Oh! Are you okay?” The Captain’s well meaning inquiries do not matter to Gamzee, because the floor of the cage is very comfortable to a troll who has been strung up for such a long time. Veeeery comfortable.

****

He doesn’t sleep, he’s not mentally tired enough for that. He just can’t find the energy to move. Literally the only exercise he got the past sweep was occasionally attempting to break the chains to no avail and maybe rolling over in his dreams. He glances up blearily when John approaches, ignoring him as he decides that best thing to do in this situation is poke him. He should at least snap his teeth at him for that but he’d probably just fall over again. “Woah, dude! You okay?” He grips the troll by the shoulders and grunts a small ‘Upsy daisy’ before Breath works its way under him and props him up like a slack marionette. His tendency to use the Breath for just about everything was probably why he smelt like it so much, but it spoke for his control and aptitude at it. It feels a little odd, being supported only by immaterial wind that coils around his limbs and shoulders, but it helps work life back into his legs.

Now free of the chains, he shrugs what little parts are left wrapped around his body, staring only briefly at the indentations they leave in his flesh. It will pass with time. He was stripped of most of his clothes during his capture, left with only a tattered leather breechcloth to preserve his modesty. A very dirty, grimy loincloth. His muscles have atrophied but not by a particularly great deal he’s pleased to note, but the majority of his skin is covered with a layer of grime and filth. Being dirty doesn’t really bother him usually, but even he bathed at least once a week. Which is once a week more than he was allowed to as a prospective slave.

****

“We’ll get you to a bed or something for now. Hey, Karkat! You almost done?”

“WHERE THE FUCK IS THE SALTED MOOBEAST? I BOUGHT A WHOLE FUCKING BARREL YOU HALFWITS AND I-Oh. Thank you. Yeah, we’re done. Get the fuck out of here, chucklefucks.” He glared at every labourer that passed him by as if they murdered his lusus, and began to go through the process of untethering the ship. John whirled around, coat flaring lightly as he ducked into the ship, Gamzee floating behind him. “I’ll give you the tour!” He said brightly, ducking down some stairs. “Cabins and the mess hall is on this floor, cargo hold and the armoury’s a level under us... oh! Bathrooms, toilets, all that’s on the bottom floor, across from the Engine Room.” He shuffled over to a particularly large cabin, swinging the door open to reveal the relatively luxurious room.

The general decor was a soft forest green, with a dressing table covered in strange little knick knacks and figurines. There was a small dining table, with a few chairs and an unlit silver candlestick, but the majority of the room was occupied by a large king-sized bed, covered in what looked like silken sheets and soft blue pillows. “We don’t have any spare beds, so you can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the floor for now.” He lowered the troll onto the bed gently and flashed him another bright grin. It was as soft as it looked, and suddenly, his body resisted any and all thoughts of getting up. “I’ll get Karkat to prepare a bath for you or something. Try and get some sleep though, you look like you need it!” He left the room at that point, coat billowing around him dramatically, and if Gamzee wanted to protest, it died in his throat.

The bed was really comfortable. He supposed a nap wouldn’t hurt...

****

He was asleep within minutes.

****

* * *

 

“What the fuck are you thinking Egbert? You can’t just go around randomly buying people off the slave market and making them crew members!” John blinked at the mutant troll, studying his familiar frustrated frown easily. “Why not? That’s what I did with you.” He grinned when Karkat began to fluster slightly at that, flailing his arms lightly. “I thought you were a dumbass for it then and I still do! You don’t know who he is, or what’s he capable of! Fuck, Egbert, you didn’t know what I was capable of!” The Captain shrugged lightly, placing his hands behind his head as he calmly strolled towards the mess hall.

“Mmm. If I knew you were half as a good at cooking as I did then I probably would’ve paid more.” That only caused the quartermaster to palm his face. “Oh come off it, Karkat! It’ll be fine! Rose accepted him.” That seemed to quell the frustration and worries a bit, but the troll still gave him a wary look of exasperation. “Look, I get that you’re ‘John Egbert, Friend to all Living Things, Oh look at me go I’m on an Adventure, Whee fun’, but you can’t just go around buying random trolls. Or people. Or fuck, _anything_ for that matter, no I haven’t forgiven you for buying three hundred cakes, fuck you for ruining cake for me Egbert, I’ll never forgive you for that but the point is people are dangerous and unpredictable and you can’t just go barging around making people your crewmembers!”

John blinked at him once. Twice. He didn’t seem to comprehend what Karkat was saying. “Sure I can though! I mean, that’s how I recruited everyone so far!” He said brightly, grinning again and ignoring Karkat’s spluttering and flustered irritation. “Spheres damn it Egbert, I’m serious! Okay, so five times lucky, but one day you’re going to come across an honest to Hope psychopath or something and then we’re all going to be lying in pools of our own blood, thinking ‘Well fuck, if only Egbert wasn’t a giant dickhumping cuntbag whose thinkpan oozed out of his giant fucking ears, we wouldn’t have picked up Stabby McHappyknife.’”

****

“My ears aren’t big.” Naturally, the only thing he complains about completely misses the point.

“They are but the frankly ridiculous size of your facial features aren’t the point of this discussion, your alarming tendency to just go around picking up random fucks and slapping a crew sticker on them is.” John gave him a scrutinising look, before grinning widely again, with a knowing glint in his eyes. Karkat crossed his arms, huffing preemptively - his Captain had probably come to some stupid conclusion and was no doubt about to inform him that ‘he knew what was going on’.

“I know what’s going on...” Karkat’s ability to predict his Captain is simply the best there is. He is the Seer of John. It is him. “You’re _jealous_!” Okay, that was unexpected.

“What?! What in the Twelve Spheres gives you that idea, Egbert? I knew you were ridiculously fucked in the pan but even that’s too much for your stupidity!” John jabs a finger at his face teasingly, grinning so wide it’s amazing his head remained in one piece. “You so are! You’re jealous I brought along a new troll, one that was being sold as a slave just like you! You’re jealous of him!” He repeated, still grinning. Karkat is going to kill him. He’s going to draw his captain’s intestines out and tear out his eyes and nobody is going to be able to stop him. Not even Dave.

“John, let me be absolutely clear. That is the most moronic, shitpanned, bulgefisted thing you have ever said in the entirety of your miserable shitsack of a life. _Ever_ , John; that means it tops everything you’ve ever said before, and considering what you have said before, frankly, I am impressed at your dedication to being the most panfried being in all of existence or at least, I would be if it weren’t for the fact that it is so nookshittingly stupid. It is so idiotic that I am this close to just emptying my bile sac over you, which would serve you right for making me hear that festering pile of barkbeast feces.” John blinked silently at that, still grinning but not as largely. “Wow. That was a long one. Where do you keep coming up with these, Karkat?” He grunted at him, elbowing past him and heading towards the kitchen. “My Thinkpan, dingus. Some of us have to use ours seeing as you won’t.” John laughed again, bright and cheerful. Karkat poked him in the chest lightly but affectionately.

 **  
**“One day, Egbert, mark my words. Your ‘I love everyone!’ attitude will get us all killed and I’ll be there to tell you I told you so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was chapter one! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> The Magic system will be explained in vaguely more detail later (but it should be fairly obvious how most of it works).
> 
> If you spot any mistakes, please notify me so I may implode with embarrassment. If you don't spot any mistakes, please notify me anyway so I may explode with pride.
> 
> EDIT: Just noticed some formatting errors. It's mostly things that should have been italics but didn't port over properly from Google Drive.


	2. A Diamond Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew of the airship 'The Windy Thing' are attacked by a mad troll clad in Void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept glaring at this chapter trying to eke out another few thousand words or something but I think this is far as I can take this chapter. Hopefully chapter 3 will come out faster.

 The savoury aroma of stewed meat fills his nostrils, and purple eyes snap open, mind focused on one thing and one thing alone - _food_. Good food. Cooked food. Food that wasn’t basically poorly cooked legs of indeterminate meat being shoved in his face. He rolls over weakly, leaning up awkwardly to get a better look at the source of the heavenly smell. The nubby-horned troll from before gives him a blank look, one thick eyebrow raised and a small bowl of the stew in his clawed hands. “Somebody’s eager. I suppose I would be too if I were unconscious for a few days.” He says dryly. He holds the bowl out to him, and a large hands reach for it and the spoon, but his hands aren’t too used to moving again and he drops the bowl on the bed, spilling the stew everywhere. “...” He feels like he should say something but he doesn’t have anything to say. The nubby-horned troll gives him an irritated look. “... Rrrrh, wait here. I’ll be back with another bowl.” He muttered, snatching the bowl and spoon and leaving back through the door. Gamzee could only blink and shrug, and wait. It wasn’t like he was strong enough to walk right now.

The white-wearing troll returned a few minutes later, fresh bowl of the delicious smelling stew in his hands. He thrust it out roughly (but not enough to spill any), before realising that Gamzee couldn’t exactly take it. Not without a repeat of what had happened just earlier. “...” Neither of them said anything, each having come to the same conclusion. Karkat would have to feed him.

The nubby horned troll remained silent, mind racing. This... this was ridiculous. This was _exactly_ like one of his trashy pale romance novels. He could remember the scene vividly too, it was one of his favourites. Except the troll that was bed ridden was a Seadweller (exotic!) and her moirail-to-be was a young, guileless Jadeblood who had opted to leave the Brood Caverns (also exotic but not as much). He was a cantankerous mutant quartermaster, and the bed ridden troll was a potential purpleblooded murderpsycho. He couldn’t tell if that made it more like a romance novel or less. Probably more. Forbidden romance! A mutant! How _tantalising!_

His life was not the plot to a trashy pale romance novel, he muttered angrily in his own head.

 

Gamzee, for his part, didn’t muse too much on the quadrant implications. Feeding another troll was an explicitly pale thing to do (the pale equivalent of basically shoving your hand down someones pant’s), but he’d be lying if he said he was bothered. The nubby horned troll was cute, in an angry way, and _someone_ was going to have to feed him - he could hardly do it himself. All in all, if he was going to fed by anyone, Karkat would be his personal choice. Short, angry, crabby and cute. Better than the Seer, that was for sure; he didn’t hate her, but he didn’t like being looked at by someone who could probably strip a soul bare and examine each little bit.

He watched, almost amused really, as the troll reached out with a spoonful of stew, blushing furiously. He opened his mouth, tongue lolling out slightly and okay maybe he was teasing him a little. The nubby horned troll just blushed harder and shoved the spoon into his mouth, causing his eyes to widen slightly. Flavour, savoury with a hint of sweetness, exploded in his mouth, and he chewed the small chunk of meat - moobeast, a bit salty but tender - appreciatively. He hadn’t eaten a lot of the land-dwelling beasts, his coastal Hive making seafood a more thrifty choice for sustenance. His lusus’s absence meant he learned how to fish and catch crabs and shellfish relatively quickly lest he starve.

“‘s a motherfuckin’ miracle, Karbro.” That only seemed to set the troll’s face on metaphorical fire, the grey skin turning a deep red with the colour of his blood. Gamzee blinked idly, studying the hue. As far as rustblood’s went, Karkat was bright, bordering on scarlet. Scarlet blood however, was not a part of the hemospectrum, so he idly assumed that Karkat just had brighter blood than usual. Or was blushing harder than most troll’s were capable of. That only made it even more adorable in his own opinion though.

“Stop staring at me like that, i-idiot!” Karkat bit out, still a deep red, mentally trying to regain control of his skin. The Purpleblood either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care about his candy mutation but he’d rather avoid a confrontation about it if at all possible. He had probably heard every slur imaginable in his life, but that didn’t dull the edge of the words. The bed-ridden troll just smiled sleepily at him, allowing him to feed him the next spoonful of stew. They continued in silence, Karkat heavily blushing and generally embarassed whilst Gamzee seemed to treat the whole situation with amusement.

Then the Airship shuddered and trembled, the sound of cannons being fired ringing in their ears.

 

* * *

 

John was having a good day. The best of days, if he would be so bold.

 

After ‘recruiting’ a new crew member, a mysterious and slightly exotic purpleblood (at least, in his opinion), he settled in for rooming with Dave temporarily. It was like the sleepovers they used to have as children! The Purpleblood had remained unconscious for a few days, but Rose was confident he was going to wake up soon, so that was super! And Karkat had made a delicious stew for everyone this particular morning. Rose had delicately pointed out that someone would have to bring food to Gamzee, and he cheerfully suggested that Karkat should do it - they were both trolls, so he’d probably receive him better. Karkat, naturally, grumbled and grunted but acquiesced to his clearly valid logic. Rose had made an amused noise and despite the curious look he gave her, she didn’t divulge the reasoning. John had then proceeded to chalk it up to her being all Seer-y, and laughing at something in the future. He hated it when she did that because she never shared the joke until it happened.

She paused then though, and glanced around warily. “Rose? What’s the matter?” He could feel the breath coil around his fingers, twitching lightly as he did. Dave, as if sensing the sudden tension, began fingering the hilt of his sword. John wasn’t sure, but he thought Dave might’ve been eyeing the two of them from behind his sunglasses. Rose shook her head lightly. “It might be nothing, but my Sight is being blocked.” _Void_.

 

The problem with Void mages is that some of them weren’t very good at controlling it. This uncontrolled power spilled around like oil, clogging up the Sight of any Seer in range. This may be the aim or it may just have been an accident, but ultimately they were flying relatively blind. They still had maps and charts to guide them, but they had been relying quite heavily on Rose’s Sight to steer the ship as best as possible.

Scenarios began listing themselves across John’s mind. Best case scenario, it’s just interference from a Void mage - perhaps one who wasn’t capable of controlling it and they just happened to stray into the interference field. Worst case scenario, Sky Pirates. One equipped with a Void mage, who may or may not be capable of controlling it. If they were, this was definitely an ambush. If they weren’t, it was probably still an ambush. John jerked his chin at Dave. Silently, he disappeared with that freakish ninja speed of his, likely to the cannons.

 

Jade was... in the Engine room. Of course she was in the Engine room, she was _always_ in the Engine room. Taking a calming breath, he Breathed, carrying a small message on the breeze, curling blue tendrils snaking off down into the bowels of the ‘The Windy Thing’. _Be prepared_ was all it said. Airship combat varied from swift and brutal, to long and ruthless, but if the crew of the Windy Thing had one thing, it was a significant advantage.

Breath Magic.

In the skies, those who were attuned to the Sphere of Breath were invaluable, but only so long as they knew what they were doing. And John knew what he was doing very well. He rushed across the deck, to the edge, scanning the clouds for any sign of another ship. His answer came in the form of cannon fire.

 

It was not cannonballs that struck the ship as he had expected, but large pellets of gas, exploding into thick, acrid smoke. He almost snorted at the incredulity of _daring_ to try and use a gas attack on a Breath Mage, but John could concede that they just had no idea what they were in for and that was fine with him. He took a deep breath, and Exhaled, the billowing blue tendrils of the Breeze spilling about, banishing the pale yellow smoke away. His eyes scan the deck - there is no sign of any boarders. Rose is coughing slightly, apparently having inhaled some of the gas, but he’s fairly sure she’ll be fine. Now isn’t the time to worry, in any case. “Rose! Can you See anything?”

She shakes her head. “The Void is getting stronger, though. Whatever it’s source, it’s getting close.” John goes to acknowledge it, let her know he’ll be careful but darkness falls upon his vision. “Rose, what’s happening?!” He shouts instead, attempting to remain calm. He couldn’t even see the frames of his glasses, so thick was the veil over his vision.

 

“ _How sad, how tragic..._ ” The voice was soft, carrying itself throughout the air almost effortlessly. “ _Such promising lives, cut short. Aaaah, it’s enough to bring me to tears!_ ” John was no Seer, but he still had his ways of Seeing with the Breath - gently folding it around himself almost like a net, he could feel if someone neared and disturbed the Breeze. For now, he couldn’t feel any disturbance, but he didn’t relax. “Void Magic, John! Give me a moment, and I’ll be able to dispel it!” He could almost feel Rose gathering the Light around her. She probably had no problem piercing the veil, but dispelling the illusion would be the tricky part. If Rose was the only person capable of actually seeing, she could be overwhelmed and outnumbered easily. That was not to say she was weak, but if it came down to a fight between five Sky Pirates and Rose, chances are the Pirates would win.

He could hear their own guns going off. Dave was presumably manning all of them at once with his ridiculous flashstepping or perhaps Jade was using her own magic, but it meant that the other ship was presumably close enough to be sighted in the fog. John extended the Breath-Net wider, curling around Rose almost idly, brushing up against her beaming Light. Still no sign of a boarder. Were they opting purely to demolish them via cannons? But then why bother with the monologuing?

John’s answer came in the form of a sword, sliding just under his chest and straight through his diaphragm. He couldn’t even see it sticking out of his abdomen, nor could he see the blood that was no doubt spilling freely. “ _I’m so sorry..._ ” The breath is hot on his ear, and Rose shouts something that sounds suspiciously like his name name. He’d care more, but the figure slides him off their sword and lets John hit the ground, Breath-Net dispersing. All he can think before the shock sends him unconscious is that he never detected the attacker at all.

 

* * *

 

Rose hissed at the sight of her Captain run through with a sword. Her Light bursts out in a wave, seconds too late to be of any assistance to anyone. The attacker, she notices, is a troll. Tall and wiry, with a pair of thick, sharply pointed horns emerging from the top of his head and jerking back sharply. What interests her most however, is the crackling Void that seems to wrap around him like a cloak.

She has no doubt he was the source of the interference, and the source of the Veil that obscured John’s vision.

Drawing her needles, she darted forward, intent on skewering him. He vanishes briefly from her sight, but with a flash of Light, she locks onto him again. He seems mildly surprised at this, but manages to parry the thrust nonetheless. Closer now, she takes the time to study his face - which is to say, she briefly glances over him, eyes alight with the glow of her Sphere.

 

His face was twisted into the bastard child of a frown and a pout, looking like he might burst into tears at any moment. His eyes were a soft chocolate brown, and the sword in his hands was held in a light double handed grip, a captain’s cloak billowing around his form. “Was he your friend?” He whispered quietly, striking with surprising speed, eyes seemingly glowing with Void as he lashed out, a veritable storm of thrusts raining upon Rose’s defence. Thankfully, the eldritch needlewands in her hands are more than capable of parrying his sword but he nonetheless has her on the defence, slowly pushing the Seer back.

“Ahhhh, _how terrible!_ So terrible, so tragic!” He cried out, and this time he did start crying, thick brown tears streaming down his face as he all but sobbed. Despite this, he only started to attack faster and faster, slipping past her guard only slightly, nicking and cutting at her skin. Gritting her teeth, Rose let the Light flood through her veins, haloing around her with it’s embrace, and focused it into a blast of energy. Light wasn’t a particularly powerful weapon when used as raw energy, especially compared to Spheres such as Doom or Hope, but it had one significant advantage - it was the natural counter to Void, in the same way that Void was the counter to Light. It would boil down completely to their own magical aptitude and Rose was _very_ confident in her own. Which was not to say she was underestimating her opponent - he cloaked himself in Void as if it were a second skin and effortlessly blinded John but Rose _was_ one of the most powerful Seers of Light currently alive, if she did say so herself. Her studies in Magic had centered on Divination and Sight, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know how to fight with the best of them.

 

He shimmers, Void crackling around him so heavily he almost fades from Rose’s Sight entirely, but it isn’t enough. He narrowly avoids the worst of the beam, but the majority of his left arm is obliterated by the raw magic. To his credit, he doesn’t cry out in pain or even acknowledge that he only has one arm left. He sniffles, tears still streaming, and gazes at her with eyes haunted by misery and depression. “That really hurt! Aaaahhaaaaaaah! I’m going to have make you _pay_ now! OHhh, I’m so SORRY!” He wails, holding his sword above his head. It crackles and shimmers, his Cloak of Void swirling up his form and surrounding his sword.

A Prince, she realises with a start. He’s a _Prince_. It was an archaic term for Mages who specialised utterly in using their Sphere as a raw weapon. It had only appeared in a relatively obscure and rare text known as ‘The Classifications of Magi’, penned by a particularly obscure scholar who had only signed it with the initials A.H., but Rose had found it a useful guide. Magic wielders _did_ have an odd proclivity to fall into one of the twelve designations. But it was really more of a study in human behaviour than magic itself.

But those who could be considered ‘Princes’ were dangerous. His defence wasn’t exactly subpar but it had proved no match to her offence but watching him harness the Void itself as a weapon gave Rose little doubt any defence she could muster would be like attempting to stop a cannonball with wet paper.

 

Her brother, Dave, flashsteps onto the deck, her unwitting saviour. Normally, the Cloak of Void would’ve made the assailant an invisible menace who would be preying on unwitting prey (the prey being Dave, as opposed to Rose), but his defensive magic had been dropped in favour of what would probably be a powerful attack. Ever the pragmatist, Dave wasted no time at all flashstepping over and cutting off his last arm with his longsword. The arm, sword and all, clattered to the ground, and he stumbled back, frown-pout melting into surprise. Dave delivers a heavy kick to his solar plexus, and the brownblooded Sky Pirate Captain is sent over the edge with nary a sound. The sound of the Windy Thing’s cannons firing tells them that Jade is hard at work informing the Pirate Ship that attacking the Windy Thing was a bad idea. A successful defence had been mustered, she muses until she realises she’s forgotten one tiny detail.

Her Captain is currently bleeding out on the deck.

Light is not a very good Sphere when it comes to healing. Not physically. Mentally, it was quite good, nowhere near the level of Mind or Heart, but outperformed the other Spheres. But when it came to physical wounds, there were few Spheres that could be of help. Life was the first and foremost, naturally, but the Spheres of Time, Hope and Blood could be used depending on the nature of the wound and the skill of the user. Onboard the Windy Thing, there was a Time user and a Blood user.

The problem was neither were particularly proficient wielders of Magic at all. Karkat had rarely, if ever, tapped into the Sphere of Blood, and Dave had never taken to magic as much as his siblings did. The last time he had attempted to control the Sphere he was attuned to, he had accidentally turned the sword he was attempting to repair into a block of unshaped iron ore and coal dust.

 

Healing John completely was probably too far out of the question for Dave’s magic - too much of a risk. The Light cheerfully let her know that the probability of success was so minimal, she wasn’t exactly sure if there was a number for the amount of decimal places. But, there was another alternative, one with a much higher (but not significantly high unfortunately) chance of success. A Time-lock. Keep John in stasis until they found a Healer, preferably a Life-attuned one.

When Rose ‘informs’ Dave of the course of action he has to take, he gives her an incredulous look. “Lalonde, are you fucking batshit? I’d ask if you have any idea what you’re asking me to do right now, but I have no doubt that you do but are still going to ask me anyway.” She raised a delicate eyebrow, remaining calm and composed despite being splattered with both herr own blood and that of the troll’s. “Dave, I understand your apprehensions, but you must understand we don’t exactly have much of a choice now do we? If you try it, the worst case scenario is that John dies. If you don’t try it, then I have little doubt that John will die anyway.” Her tone is brusque, almost skeptically amused at her brother’s nervous fear of failure but ultimately John doesn’t have a lot of time and if Dave doesn’t do it, then their last hope is Karkat. Asking Karkat to perform magic would be like asking a Walrus to perform in Swan Lake.

“Fine. But if he turns to dust, you are _so_ paying for my therapy.” Rose doesn’t acknowledge his posturing, watching silently as he flashsteps over to their downed Captain, kneeling down in the pool of blood and taking a deep breath. Like always, he is intent and focused with a strange dedication she never witnesses in him elsewhere. Manipulating the flow of Time is something that must be done with utmost delicacy, Rose imagines, so it doesn’t surprise her too much that he seems to draw on every ounce of himself to focus. The energy of Time is a rust red, the colour of ochre, and John glows softly with it once, and everything about him seems to still. Where he was breathing, if laboriously and barely earlier, his chest no longer moves. No more blood flows, no more heartbeat. He is for all intents and purposes, frozen in time.

At least, she hopes so. “I think I managed it.” Dave mutters quietly, staggering to his feet. Even such a minor (for most mages at least) task, he is still exhausted from it. She nodded in thanks, glancing down at John. He seemed almost peaceful like this. “Will it be safe to move him?” Dave shrugs at her, earnestly unknowing.

 

“Honestly? Transport should be fine, I think. I remember Old Man Devayth used to move the rain around whenever he froze it, so it should be fine. You just can’t affect him.” She nodded silently. The two of them bent over to pick him up, he with the shoulders and her at the feet. It looks odd and feels odd, his clothes stiff as stone, he almost feels like a statue.

It’s a bit tricky to navigate him down to a bed, and Karkat thankfully does not burst into a confused and angry inquisitive rant. He does, however, send the two of them a look that does not simply demand answers so much as it simply informs them that answers will be had and if you didn’t cooperate, then he would simply tear through you to get them.

They reconvene in the mess hall. Jade looks worried in that absent-minded and good-natured way of hers, all nail biting and frantic glances. Karkat however, seems oddly composed. “Alright, Lalonde, Strider. _What the fuck just happened?_ ”

Dave, predictably, ‘glances’ at Rose. To anyone else, it would’ve been an invisible gesture, shielded as he was by his sunglasses. She let’s out a small sigh, fiddling only lightly with her needlewands. “There was... an altercation on the deck.” Karkat looks like he wants to interject, likely with a sarcastic comment but he withholds it. Interesting. “A Void user of considerable skill attacked us. First with gas bombs, but John handled that easily. He used the Void to blind John, and I was attempting to restore John’s sight when he struck. Dave and I managed to defeat him, and Dave managed to put John into stasis.” She says quietly. Karkat, she notice, is oddly calm. Calmer than usual, at least.

“How did our newest crewmember fare? I take it you were with him.” Her innocuous statement slips into him with the precision she expected. A light dusting of scarlet colours his cheeks.

 

Bullseye.

 

* * *

 

When the cannons fired, Gamzee had naturally tensed. Cannons meant combat. Pirates. The Rage sang in his thinkpan, and he wanted to indulge it, let it really _scream_ with him, let the sound of cracking bone and tearing flesh be his swan song. The low growl built up in his throat, and he was already moving to get out of the bed, clumsy and unstable movements be damned but a small grey hand pats, no, _paps_ his face. Surprise and shock electrify his veins, and his wide purple eyes meet the bright red ones of the white-wearing troll. Neither of them expected this development apparently, even though Karkat’s the one who papped him. His shocked expression tells the other that he moved purely on instinct, not really aware of what he was doing until it had already occurred.

What surprises Gamzee most, is that he isn’t angry. He’s... calm. Soothed. He feels relaxed, and soft and the Rage is quiet in his thinkpan, the voices still and silent. He’s blushing furiously now, his cheeks turning a red that he idly realised was much, _much_ too bright a red to even be considered rust.

The little troll in front of him is a mutant, but he can’t bring himself to be even _slightly_ bothered by that, because the hand on his face is simultaneously soft and rough and just _so warm_ and _perfect_. The hand drags itself down his face slowly, almost experimentally, and he realises with a start that the little troll probably hasn’t been in any kind of pale relationship. Then again, neither had he.

He leans into the hand despite it’s inexperience, and he lets out a slow murr. The majority of the shorter troll’s blood seems to gravitate to his face with that, flushing a bright scandalous cherry red. The hand leaves his face for a brief moment before returning, the soft touch sending shivers down the purpleblood’s spine.

 

The Windy Thing’s cannons fire in ensemble, a symphony of battle that disrupts the atmosphere. The nubby-horned quartermaster goes to leave, but the purpleblood tugs him back. He falls backwards onto the bed with the force, Gamzee having underestimated his own strength in comparison to Karkat’s resistance. Karkat flashed the spiral-horned troll an inquiring look. If Gamzee was perfectly honest with himself, he didn’t want the smaller male to leave him alone. Calmer now, he knew there was basically no way he was going to be able to go out and fight, not in this state. The idea of being attacked by Pirates (and he didn’t really hold much doubt that was what they were under attack by) rankled him greatly - he had spent the sweep chained up, slowly soaking in a sea of his own hatred, and most of it was directed at that foul category of people. _Pirates_.

When Karkat looked like he was about to leave again, Gamzee pulled on his sleeve again, lighter this time, and frowned. “Y’ ain’t gonna leave a motherfucker all in his lonesome like this, are ya?” The tall troll pouts, and he would shamelessly admit he was just doing it to try and get the other to remain. He liked being in his presence, enjoyed the calming sensation. He was practically being _blinded_ with diamonds, just diamonds everywhere, mind your step, the floor is covered in gemstones.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one judging from the way Karkat relented with a sigh, nonetheless fingering the handle of a sickle. Odd choice of weapon, but he wasn’t one to talk. He preferred clubs and blunt weapons but he was just at home using his bare hands. Another round of cannonfire echoed out, and Karkat glanced at the door. “... I’ll be gone for a minute, alright? I’ll be right back lughead.” He papped Gamzee one more time before he could complain and slinked over to the door. Tearing it open, he stuck his head out, and began shouting down the hallway. “Harley! What the fuck is going on?”

 

“What the fuck do you think, fuckass?” Jade Harley was a short, almost dainty looking woman wearing a short black dress and long black and white striped socks. A pair of snow white twitching dog ears sat upon her head, the result of a magical experiment gone wrong (or so Harley claimed). Her pitch black hair seemed to wave behind her as her entire body glowed with a fuzzy lime green light associated with the Sphere of Space.

Perhaps one of the most utilitarian of all the Spheres, Jade was a proficient wielder of Space, and was currently using it to control all of the portside cannons at once. Moving her hands almost as if conducting an orchestra, the cannons pulled back, and were loaded by gently floating cannonballs and clumps of shot. Small lit torches hovered by, ready to light the fuses and fire another bevy.

She jerked her chin at the room. “How’s tall, dark and mysterious handling everything?” She said, tone only lightly teasing. Karkat flushed nonetheless, levelling her with a glare that she cheerfully ignored. “I don’t like whatever the fuck you think you’re implying Harley, but to sate your no doubt raging fires of curiousity, he’s fine.” He snapped, debating mentally whether to check on the other three. A moment later, he decided not to. They’d be fine. John was the biggest idiot he ever had the displeasure of meeting but he could take care of himself.

 

So when Rose and Dave carried what appeared to be his petrified body down the stairs, a little part of him just whispered ‘ _You were saying?_ ’

 

* * *

 

“How scandalous. A budding pale romance on our very ship. This is just like one of your novels, isn’t it Karkat?” Rose said lightly, fiddling with her needlewands, uniquely smug in a way that could only be described as Rose Lalonde. “Fuck off, Lalonde.” He barked back, ignoring her jabs, however true. This couldn’t be more like his trashy romance novels if they tried. “John. What do we do?” He used his very best ‘I will shit down your windpipe because I fucking care shut up’ tone. Rose sighed.

“A Healer.” Her eyes flashed lightly with the gold Light. “We have a about a day before the Time-lock wears off. And I daresay Dave won’t be able to pull of another one.” Karkat slumped into his chair, groaning lightly. A few days to find a healer. _Fan-fucking-tastic_. Healers weren’t exactly uncommon; you were all but guaranteed to find one in any halfway decent spire or town. The issue then was distance and time. Port Tyras was probably the closest city, and that was a few days away.

 

“A motherfucker couldn’t all help but get on and overhearin’ ya say ya'll motherfucker’s needed a healer?” Gamzee stood in the doorway - ‘stood’ was being generous, as he seemed more to be holding himself up from sheer force of will and the strength of his arms as opposed to his legs. Karkat was seconds from berating him for getting up when he clearly wasn’t ready yet, but Rose only nodded casually, giving him a scrutinising glance. “Would I be correct in assuming you have knowledge of one?” Gamzee nodded.

“A motherfucker would need to see a map, get his motherfucking bearings.” Jade clicked her fingers, and a map flashed onto the table. Karkat allowed Gamzee to lean on him as he hobbled over. “We are currently here, for reference.” Rose said calmly, pointing to a specific point. Gamzee glanced at the surrounding area. “May I inquire as to which location you are looking for?” He frowned, rolling his head lightly.

“Ever heard of a spire called ‘Everclear’?”

“Oh! Yeah, I know that place, it’s like an hour from here. It’s not on the map though.” Jade piped up, “Why? It’s not inhabited or anything.”

“Shit no, sis, healer’s place ain’t too far from there though. Smaller spire, used to take a few hours by boat from Everclear - motherfuckin’ cave entrance at the base, hard to see from the sky. Ya know ya found it, when you can feel the Void pricklin’ at your skin, all blank and bare.” Rose raised another eyebrow at this.

 

“Void?” He nodded.

“Motherfucker in there, brother all up and called ‘Equius’, spills Void everywhere like it ain’t no thing.” Rose made a ‘hmmm’ noise in the back of her throat. She had briefly attempted to see if she could locate a Healer nearby with her Light, but if there was a Void user obscuring a potential Healer (intentionally or not), that would explain why she didn’t turn up any results. But it also meant she couldn’t verify Gamzee’s words. She didn’t doubt that he believed what he was saying, but one could never be too careful. She glanced at the others. They all looked back at her. She was acting Captain then, she supposed.

 

“Very well. Jade, set course for Everclear.” Rose said calmly, rising from her place at the table. “Aye aye, ma’am!” Jade said cheekily, saluting. The Seer turned to the three males. “The Healer, can they be trusted?”  
“Shit yeah, sis, fishsister is kind as all hells. Ain’t never turned away anythin’ that’s been hurt.” Fishsister. It was a seadweller then. Interesting. She didn’t hold any prejudice against the Healer for her race, but it was merely something to note. Seadweller’s were rare, at least, on the surface. Nobody was really sure if they were more prominent under the waves, and there were tales of seadweller’s leading unwary fishermen to their deaths or outright sinking their ships out of vengeance for having been bothered or harassed by their nets and hooks.

 

* * *

 

“That was a close one.” The voice said softly, gloved hands stitching calmly. “You are very lucky that the Reverend caught you, or you most certainly would be dead.” His hands glowed softly with the gentle green light of Life, and the pale grey arms attached themselves properly, skin bonding with skin. Their new owner clenched and unclenched his fists experimentally, wincing at the sensation slightly. Arm transplants always felt weird. “You are my Captain, but if you keep losing your limbs like this it’s going to cost me an arm and leg.” There was a silent pause. “That was a joke.” Neither of them showed any humour. The healer straightened, brushing his gleaming latex coat slightly. He glanced down at the captain, jade eyes glinting behind his white mask. “Your orders, Captain?”

“It was them. Definitely them.” The Captain whispered quietly, clenching his fists. His eyes blazed with the shadow of the Void. “Aaaaahh, it’s so depressing but we’re going to have to pursue! If we leave a job undone, it just might bring me to _tears_.”

“Should we inform The Purveyor?” The doctor said calmly. The Captain paused, considering the question before nodding slowly. “I’ll send a raven out at once, Captain. Bed rest for a few days, and don’t you _dare_ stress those arms for at least a week or so help me...” The Doctor left the threat hanging as he packed up his tools into his bag and left the cabin.

 

The Hunt was on.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere, in a small tavern, a pair of olive eyes glanced at a piece of tattered paper held in gloved hands, memorising the pictogram printed on it. In a dimly lit Hivestem, jade eyes studied a nearly identical piece of paper. A teal tongue lapped at another paper, and silk clad fingers traced the text.

Each paper bore the same message. **WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE: THE CREW OF THE AIRSHIP ‘THE WINDY THING’, LAST SEEN LEAVING PORT TYRAS, AUTHORISED BY LORD GOLDWAVE OF PORT KEERAIN** , followed by a pictogram of Rose, John, Dave and Jade and a particularly large reward. Following this message, was another. **WANTED, ALIVE: THE MUTANTBLOOD SLAVE, LAST SEEN ONBOARD THE AIRSHIP ‘THE WINDY THING’, AUTHORISED BY LORD GOLDWAVE OF PORT KEERAIN** , followed by another pictogram, this time depicting Karkat during his time as a slave and an even larger reward.

 

Grins and smiles, frowns and sighs spread across the face of Bounty Hounters across the world. The Hunt, as they say, was on.


End file.
